


Say No To This

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [86]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Just pure angst!, Poor Jack Dalton (Macgyver 2016), References to Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Sarah's back to reunite with Jack at the worst possible time.
Relationships: Sarah Adler/Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Prompt Fics [86]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Say No To This

**Author's Note:**

> and-bingo-was-his-name-o asked for the prompt "I needed you! I needed you!" for Jack/Sarah, and I'm considering this practice for an upcoming project of mine that's gonna feature even more of them!

He hasn’t sleep in a week. He feels weak, still recovering from the longest mission of his life, still re-nourishing his neglected body, falling into the same routine he always does when there is just... _lots not good_ for the poor little hamster running at half speed in his brain.

And yet he almost selfishly expects the company that comes to tend to him. Mac, dropping off some new improvement on one of his kitchenwares and an ear to listen to the ultra-dark thoughts he just can’t seem to open up about to _anybody,_ not even a therapist.

Bozer, who drops off plenty of home-cooked meals to keep Jack fed until the end of the year and makes sure that he has all the comforts a home should have, fluffed pillows and warm blankets.

Riley, who gives him a shoulder to cry on as she snuggles up on his lap, encourages him to have a Die Hard marathon until they both fall asleep wrapped in the Cowboys snuggie that she had long stolen from him--well, he _let_ her take it but he’ll let her believe whatever she wants--and carried with her everywhere. 

Even Matty comes to assure him of the imprisonment and punishment of the men who tortured him, along with the validations that he’s one of the best operatives she’s ever had.

But he certainly didn’t expect _her_ to show up. 

He opens the door to his apartment, one hand on the butt of a gun that trembles in his grip because family doesn’t knock so it can’t be one of them. Even his Delta buddies know to just come on in when honoring their perpetual invitation to Jack’s apartment. 

And while he’s not ready to put up another fight, another struggle, he is ready to just straight up put a bullet right between the eyes of the next person to use and abuse him.

And if that doesn’t work, well...maybe it’s time.

But the gun clatters when he sees her face. Wide eyes, frazzled hair and dried tear streaks down her face, armed with nothing but a six pack of beer and a coiled fist. 

“Sarah,” he croaks in a still recovering voice--the disturbance to his ripped throat reminds him to call into the Guinness Book of World Records to let them know he set a new one for longest and loudest scream produced. 

“Jack,” she smiles. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve been cryin’...” Jack wraps an arm around her as he gently closes and locks the door. “Someone after you, are you in danger?”

“No...No, uhm...It’s...It’s Jeff.”

Jack’s heart spikes, 

“What happened, is he okay?”

“He...He left me, Jack! Says he just...couldn’t take it anymore.” 

“Oh...” Jack crumbles, and pulls her into a tight embrace as the case of beer drops to the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

“M-me too. But...but it got me thinking...that maybe...”

Sarah gently pushes Jack in front of her, puts one hand on his shoulder and cups the other one to his cheek. Her thumb brushes over the unkempt beard on his face as she takes a moment to study Jack, with an emotion in her eyes that makes Jack’s melt...and rage, at the same time. He knows what’s coming and he can’t stop it, and it’s a cruel twist of fate, the words he knows she’s about to ask. 

“Maybe we can...start over?”

She leans back in, her eyes set on his lips, closing the loop he started years ago on that balcony, his lips quiver, _finally,_ this is it--

But he pulls back. 

And begins to laugh.

A cold, cruel, humorless laugh that makes him hunch over on his knees.

“What’s so funny?” Sarah sneers at him. “I thought you wanted this, wanted _me--”_

 _“Want_ you? Oh, sweetheart, I did more than just _want_ you. I needed you! _I_ needed _you!”_ Jack shouts before his voice cracks. He ducks his head, runs a hand over the longer strands of hair on his head, suddenly wishing he had gotten warning of this meeting so that he would look like less of a caveman. “A-and you weren’t there. But...but _they_ were--”

“Is there someone else?” Sarah interrupts with widened eyes, but he ignores her.

“--a-and now you...you wanta act like we can just...”

“That’s what _you_ wanted when I was with Jeff!”

“Yeah. Yeah it was, I’m not gonna pretend that it wasn’t,” Jack nods his head, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “And you couldn’t...you didn’t want me back then. Why would you want me _now?”_

“Jack...How can you say no to this, when we both know this is everything you always wanted?”

“No, Sarah. I-I can’t. I’m too...damaged right now. And you got enough baggage without my heavy ass--” a poor choice of words, Jack realizes as he looks down at his gut which is thinner than ever before, “--dragging you down to hell and you...you deserve to be happy, and you were happy, with Jeff--”

“You _never_ wanted me to marry him and well! You were right! I can’t be happy with him, even if we fixed things...he’s not...he’s not _you.”_

Jack turns away, walking towards his armchair and catching his head in his hands while Sarah picks up the beer and opens a pair of bottles with a hissing _pop!_ followed by the clatter of the caps on the counter.

Suddenly he prefers hearing the hiss of the gas line aimed at his face. Prefers the popping of his limbs out of his sockets. Prefers the clatter of tools raining onto blood stained concrete. 

“There _is_ someone else, isn’t there?” she asks in a dull voice, before he blindly accepts the bottle while he continues to nurse his watery eyes. 

He heaves a silent sob, and she mistakes it for a nod. 

“Tell me about them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” he lifts his head up, doesn’t even bother to stop the tears from flowing as his voice lowers to a more comfortable whisper, “They’re not _you.”_


End file.
